


Rain is Free Food for Plants

by Filomena



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Aged-Up Character(s), Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Fluff, Holding Hands, Light Angst, M/M, Plants, Rain, Tsukishima Kei is Bad at Feelings, prompt: neighbours, they r so soft and sweet :)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-24
Updated: 2020-08-24
Packaged: 2021-03-07 01:07:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,968
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26078446
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Filomena/pseuds/Filomena
Summary: God, Tsukishima thinks, standing over the broken shards of a clay pot.I’m an idiot.The pot has to be his neighbour's. No one else on this street owns the strange, odd little frog pots, each boasting the sprout of a plant. The pot Tsukishima broke seems to have the beginnings of a tomato in it.He gathers his pride, and simultaneously gathers the clay pieces. The plant flops pathetically around in his hands. When he tries to fix its position, it simply noses into the corner of his elbow.There’s dirt on his shirt when he rings his neighbour’s doorbell. He can’t bear to look at himself in the window’s reflection.The door opens a crack, revealing a spotted nose. It widens until a full face peeks through, and then the outline of a tan, lanky man.“Can I help you?”In which Tsukishima moves into a new place, breaks an ugly pot, makes a friend, and falls in love.
Relationships: Tsukishima Kei/Yamaguchi Tadashi
Comments: 16
Kudos: 135
Collections: TsukkiYama Week 2020





	Rain is Free Food for Plants

_God,_ Tsukishima thinks, standing over the broken shards of a clay pot. _I’m an idiot._

The pot has to be his neighbour's. No one else on this street owns the strange, odd little frog pots, each boasting the sprout of a plant. The pot Tsukishima broke seems to have the beginnings of a tomato in it. 

He gathers his pride, and simultaneously gathers the clay pieces. The plant flops pathetically around in his hands. When he tries to fix its position, it simply noses into the corner of his elbow.

There’s dirt on his shirt when he rings his neighbour’s doorbell. He can’t bear to look at himself in the window’s reflection. 

The door opens a crack, revealing a spotted nose. It widens until a full face peeks through, and then the outline of a tan, lanky man. 

“Can I help you?”

Tsukishima holds up his plant. If his hands weren’t occupied, he would have straightened his glasses.

“I just moved in,” he says, sounding far too resigned for a newcomer, “and I knocked over your pot. Sorry.”

The freckled man’s eyes go from Tsukishima’s shirt to the plant in his hands. He looks slightly bewildered.

“Why don’t you come inside?” he decides to say, after seeming to deliberate his answer.

* * *

“Do you want me to pay for it?” Tsukishima asks, sitting awkwardly at the freckled man’s table. His name is Yamaguchi Tadashi, apparently.

“Of course not.” Yamaguchi holds two cups of steaming tea, walking towards Tsukishima slowly. “It didn’t cost much, anyway.”

Tsukishima reminisces on the ugliness of the pot. He wonders if they cost Yamaguchi anything at all. 

“You don’t want me to buy another pot?” 

Yamaguchi sets the tea down on the table. “Nah,” he says. He points toward a closed door in front of them. “I have a ton.”

“If you say so.” Tsukishima wonders just how many pots Yamaguchi has. He picks up the teacup, taking a sip, and resolves not to think about it.

“When’d you move in?” Yamaguchi asks, holding his tea in his hands. “Is there anything you need help with? Like moving boxes?”

Tsukishima shakes his head. “No thanks,” he responds politely, seeing Yamaguchi’s eyes peek out from his teacup as he drinks. “I already have everything in order.”

A white lie. He has everything moved in, but he still needs to assemble things. He’s been holding off moving his sofa for a few days now.

“Well,” Yamaguchi says, giving a little grin. His mouth curves pleasantly, and it almost negates the amount of ugly pots he seems to own. “If you need anything, you know who to ask.”

Tsukishima gives him a nod.

* * *

Tsukishima’s couch refuses to move. He’s pushed it for an embarrassingly long time, but no matter which angle he comes at it from, it won’t move.

His misfortunes result in him standing in front of Yamaguchi’s door. He knocks on it twice before waiting patiently. 

The door opens in the same way it opened before - Yamaguchi’s nose peeks through first, then his face, and then the rest of his body.

“Oh!” he says, pushing his door wide open. His apartment is clear of frog pots for today. “Tsukishima. How are you doing?”

Tsukishima stuffs his hands in his pockets. Yamaguchi is wearing an old shirt and a pair of cut off sweatpants, but he manages to make it look nice.

“My couch,” Tsukishima states, and then regrets the blunt delivery. “Can you help me move it?” 

Yamaguchi gives him a grin. “Sure.” The door sways as he slips on a pair of shoes, and he lets it shut behind him as he exits his apartment. 

“Anything else you need help with?” he asks, as they walk to Tsukishima’s door. 

Tsukishima holds his door open for Yamaguchi. He has a heavy glass table, an armchair, and a dresser he knows he can’t lift, but he shakes his head. “Not that I know of.”

Yamaguchi turns around in his barren, messy apartment. “Alright,” he replies, fixing his gaze on a painting Akiteru bought.

“Couch is over here.” Tsukishima points at the black monstrosity he calls his couch, which is currently in the middle of the apartment.

“That’s your couch?” Yamaguchi asks, walking towards it. “It’s gigantic.”

Tsukishima sighs. “Tell me about it.”

He goes to the other side of the couch, bracing his arms underneath it. “Could you help me put it in the corner?” he asks, nodding towards it. 

Yamaguchi braces his arms under it easily. “Sure. Should we start lifting now?”

Tsukishima nods. The couch is lifted instantly, with Yamaguchi’s side raising a comfortable height above the ground. His own side hovers only a few centimeters over.

“Should I move?” Yamaguchi says, peering over the edge of the couch. 

_Stupid arms,_ Tsukishima thinks, watching his arms struggle to lift the weight. He hefts the couch higher, ignoring the way his biceps protest.

“Sure,” he says, and sounds slightly choked out. He presses his lips together. 

Yamaguchi glances at Tsukishima’s trembling arms, and then begins to move backwards. He pretty much pulls Tsukishima into the corner. The couch drops onto the ground the moment it hits the wall.

Tsukishima shakes off his arms, refusing to look in Yamaguchi’s general direction. 

“Thanks,” he responds. He tries to suppress the breathiness in his voice.

Yamaguchi nods cheerily. “No problem.” His gaze moves onto the glass table, and he tilts his head as he looks at it. 

“That looks pretty heavy.” He points at it. “Want some help?”

Tsukishima matches Yamaguchi’s gaze. He knows he can’t lift the table at all, and looks back at Yamaguchi’s helpful face. 

“Sure,” he says slowly, and wonders how many items he can ask Yamaguchi to lift.

* * *

There’s a knock on Tsukishima’s door, which is strange, because he’s only talked to one person since he moved in.

He opens his door fully, and is met with the sight of that exact person. 

“Hi.” Yamaguchi’s fingers slip on the pot he’s holding, revealing a green colour and a frog-shaped face.

“Hello,” Tsukishima says, staring at the pot in his hands. _Shit,_ he thinks, _did I break another one of those?_

“I was just wondering…” Yamaguchi begins, and trails off. He shakes his head. “I have, uh, a housewarming gift.” He holds out his hands, showing off the pot. 

It’s another ugly frog pot, but in a different colour. Its eyes seem to bulge out of the clay. 

Tsukishima takes in the image in front of him. Yamaguchi is in casual wear yet again, somehow looking adorable, and there’s a frankly terrifying pot in his hands.

He has freckles on the backs of his hands. They trail up his arms, disappearing underneath his sleeves.

“A gift?” Tsukishima asks. He stops himself from looking at the dips of Yamaguchi’s collarbones. _(Does he have freckles there, too?)_ “That’s nice of you.” 

He takes the pot from Yamaguchi.

“How quaint,” he notes, staring at the bulging eyes. _Horrifying_ , he wants to say, but when Yamaguchi beams, the sentiment disappears.

“Really? You like it?” Yamaguchi says, tilting his head. 

Tsukishima feels his cheeks get oddly hot. “It…” he says, struggling to land on an adjective to describe the pot. “It has charm.” 

Yamaguchi’s mouth raises in a half smile. “Charm, huh?”

“Are these handmade?” Tsukishima asks, turning over the pot in his hands. They must be, considering how lumpy and misshapen they are in several places. 

“I think?” Yamaguchi asks, peering over his hands to get a closer look. He has a smattering of freckles across the bridge of his nose. “Probably,” he says, watching Tsukishima’s finger trace over a bump.

The pot is a strange, mottled mixture of green and brown. White ceramic lines the inside. Some of the dark green from the outside bleeds in, causing it to streak.

“Where’d you get them from?” Tsukishima holds the pot securely in his hands. Yamaguchi straightens his posture. He’s almost as tall as him, which is impressive.

“The thrift store.” Yamaguchi shifts slightly on his feet. “They have a lot of stuff.”

That explains a lot. Tsukishima traces the rim of the pot.

“Actually,” Yamaguchi continues, now scuffing the ground with his slipper, “I have a ton of them. If you ever need any more, you can always ask me.” 

Tsukishima raises his eyebrows slightly. The last thing he wants is another ugly frog pot, but from the way Yamaguchi scuffs the ground with his foot, he thinks he can stand to accept more. 

“Of course,” he responds, giving Yamaguchi a perfunctory smile. He nudges to the space behind him. “Care for tea?”

Yamaguchi looks up in surprise. A little smile graces his lips, and Tsukishima notices that he has a freckle near the corner of his mouth. 

“Sure.” 

* * *

“Thanks,” Tsukishima says, watching Yamaguchi plant tomato seeds in his pot. “I don’t have a green thumb.” 

“I’m sure that’s not true.” Yamaguchi pushes aside dirt with his pointer finger. He has freckles there as well, and Tsukishima feels his mouth go dry.

Tsukishima rips his eyes from Yamaguchi’s finger, and trails them up his shoulder instead. “Every plant I’ve owned has died,” he deadpans.

Yamaguchi covers the seeds with dirt. He laughs, and the watering can in his other hand slightly shakes. “Are you sure?” he asks. He waters the seeds with a certain precision. “Some plants just need some time.”

Tsukishima recalls the brown, wilted plants he took care of.

“I’m sure,” he reiterates. 

“Well,” Yamaguchi says, turning to Tsukishima, “that can probably be fixed.” He hands the watering can to Tsukishima.

“Probably?” Tsukishima asks, taking the watering can from Yamaguchi. 

Yamaguchi shrugs. There’s a hint of impishness in the way his mouth sets. “Some people don’t even have thumbs.”

Tsukishima smirks. He tilts the can and waters the seeds. “What if I’m one of them?” he asks.

“You’re overwatering them,” Yamaguchi suddenly says, pulling Tsukishima’s arm back. His grip is warm and solid. 

“I am?”

Yamaguchi nods. “Don’t overflow the pot.” He lets go of Tsukishima’s arm, retracting his hand with a hint of self consciousness.

“And if you’re one of them,” he adds, remedying his slight hesitancy, “I’ll just plant them for you.” 

The vestiges of Yamaguchi’s warm hand stay on Tsukishima’s skin. 

“That’s nice of you,” Tsukishima says, his voice feeling detached from his body. 

Yamaguchi pokes at the wet dirt with his finger. He gives Tsukishima a wry looking, saying, “That’s what happens when you have time to kill.”

A tiny grin grows on Tsukishima’s face.

* * *

“How’s your plant growing?” Yamaguchi asks, looking over the five pots he’s watering. They’re all an assortment of various frog faces. Tiny plants sprout from each of them, and their green leaves compliment his yellow shirt. 

Tsukishima analyzes the sprout he’s watering. “Not dead,” he decides on, looking at the small leaves in wonderment.

“Told you.” Yamaguchi’s lips curve into a smile. 

“You said ‘probably’,” Tsukishima corrects, but his mouth curves in kind. 

Yamaguchi hunches his shoulders. “Well,” he reasons, “can you blame me?” 

Tsukishima stops watering his plant. “No. I told you that all of my plants died, didn’t I?”

“Uh huh.” Yamaguchi spills some water onto the concrete. “By the way,” he says, cocking his head slightly, and Tsukishima feels fondness grow in his chest, “how’d you kill all of them? That’s kind of impressive.” 

“Uh.” Tsukishima recalls all the succulents he owned, which somehow died under his care. 

“...Did you not water them enough?”

Tsukishima shakes his head. “I think I watered them enough.” 

After seeing the numerous sickly succulents in his room, Akiteru had bought him a little fern.

“Wrong fertilizer?” Yamaguchi helpfully asks. 

For the fern, Tsukishima had used little fertilizer pills. It had deteriorated in a matter of weeks.

“I don’t think so,” he responds, watching thoughtfulness seep into Yamaguchi’s expression.

“Huh.” Yamaguchi lets go of his watering can to put his finger on his chin. The action plucks Tsukishima’s heartstrings. “No sunlight?”

Tsukishima’s room got the most sunlight. “Actually,” he intervenes, before Yamaguchi can know more about his terrible luck with plants, “I think I just have no thumbs.”

The figure of speech takes Yamaguchi aback. Tsukishima almost begins to strategize ways to leave, but then Yamaguchi lets out a little laugh.

“Maybe they’re growing back,” he responds, and even though the metaphor is getting kind of gory, he seems unfazed. “Since you’ve grown that little plant.” He points at the ugly frog pot in Tsukishima’s vicinity.

Tsukishima looks down at the tiny leaves. They’re so small and weak, and he’s sure he could knock them over with a flick.

“Maybe,” he acquiesces. 

A drop of water slides off a leaf. Yamaguchi goes back to watering his own plants. 

* * *

“Any favourite plants?” Tsukishima asks, before he can stop himself. It’s a ridiculous question out context, and his mind scrambles to cover up his mishap.

“Oh, favourite plant?” Yamaguchi repeats. His face brightens up. “That’s a good question.” 

Tsukishima relaxes considerably.

“Actually, it’s a hard question.” Yamaguchi looks upwards in thought. “Maybe a golden pothos?”

The words fly over Tsukishima’s head. “A what?” he asks, and feels slightly dumb. He’s usually savvy in trivia knowledge, but he knows next to nothing about plants.

Akiteru would be clicking his tongue at him. Good thing he’s not here, and several miles away instead.

“It’s a leafy plant,” Yamaguchi explains. ( _Aren’t all plants leafy?_ Tsukishima thinks.) “They’re called money plants. Have you heard of them?”

Tsukishima barely recalls Akiteru mentioning them. “I’ve heard about them.”

“They have these green leaves with yellow streaks in them,” Yamaguchi describes. “And they stay green in darkness. Plus, they’re impossible to kill.”

“They’re impossible to kill?” Tsukishima asks incredulously. Part of him wants to keep one, just to see whether it’ll die from his lack of thumbs.

“Yeah!” Yamaguchi motions inside his apartment. “I have a few of them. Wanna see?”

Tsukishima nods his head. “That’d be nice,” he says. His voice loses its usual edge, because Yamaguchi looks so enthusiastic.

Yamaguchi bounds into his apartment. He returns later with two giant, ugly frog pots, each one boasting a flourishing money plant.

“Aren’t they a beauty?” he says, holding his pots in both arms, grinning widely.

The pots don’t look so ugly when they’re in his arms. His plants seem to curl around his fingers, and the yellow streaks in the leaves bring out the bronze in his skin.

“They are,” Tsukishima agrees, but he isn’t talking about the money plants.

He tries to shake himself out of his daze. “Can I touch one of them?” he asks. “They’re not like poison ivy, right?”

Yamaguchi lets a leaf fully curl around his finger. “Nope,” he answers happily, “they’re perfectly safe.” 

Tsukishima reaches out a hand tentatively, fingers skidding over a fleshy leaf. The material is soft and smooth in his hands. When he touches the stem of the plant, it applies a soothing pressure to his fingertip.

“They’re nice,” he says absently. His mind is failing to formulate sentences. “How’d you get them to be so huge?”

Yamaguchi hoists up the pots in his arms. A stem flops onto his shoulder. “I don’t know,” he replies, proudness leaking through his voice. “I guess I can grow things easily.”

“Or,” Tsukishima says, voice coming out in a strange rush, mind full of dumb metaphors, “you have multiple thumbs.”

“Multiple thumbs?” Yamaguchi asks, and his lips quirk in amusement. “Like I’ve stolen them from people?”

Tsukishima curses himself for the awful joke. Yamaguchi’s bemused expression erases that, and makes him say, “Maybe.”

Yamaguchi gives him a half smirk.

“What if that’s why I’m bad with plants?” Tsukishima says. A tiny spark ignites in his chest. “Because you stole my thumbs?”

When Yamaguchi laughs, the stem on his shoulder noses into the hollow of his neck. “It could be,” he replies, cheeks slightly tinged red. “It’s possible.”

He hoists up his pots again, and another stem flops onto him, this time into the crook of his shoulder.

* * *

“There are gardens near here,” Yamaguchi says one evening, watering his plants. “If you want to see more plants.” 

“There are?” Tsukishima asks. He’s sitting on his doorstep, watching Yamaguchi water his plants. He finished watering his tomato plant a while ago.

Yamaguchi nods. “You haven’t seen them yet?” he asks, sounding surprised.

The only places Tsukishima’s visited are the convenience store, the grocery store, and the bank.

“Not yet,” he answers, covering up his concerning lack of sightseeing.

“I want to buy some more seeds,” Yamaguchi says, “since they have some cool ones. Wanna tag along?”

Tsukishima turns his head to get a closer look at Yamaguchi. Yamaguchi’s cheeks are reddened, and manage to peek through the greenery he obscures his face with. 

“You could also learn about, uh, plants,” Yamaguchi adds on, looking awfully preoccupied with cleaning the dirt near his pots.

“I’ll come along.” Tsukishima looks at Yamaguchi through the strips of green. His skin is still red, and his freckles are starting to disappear with how much he blushes.

Yamaguchi’s face shoots up from the plants. “Okay!” he exclaims, and draws himself inwards.

 _Cute,_ Tsukishima finally lets himself admit, and feels his own face heat up.

“I’m looking forward to it,” he says, propelled by a burst of brazen confidence, “since you’ve been such a good teacher.”

A leaf curls around Yamaguchi’s finger, and it drops as he jerks his hand back.

“Well,” he stutters, a glint of determination peeking through the sheepishness in his eyes, “that’s only because you’ve been a good student.” 

He ducks his head again. His hands untangle the leaves bursting out of his pots, and Tsukishima can’t help but wonder how they would feel in his own. 

* * *

It’s cold, misty, and grey, which is weather Tsukishima absolutely hates.

“Don’t you love rainy weather?” Yamaguchi asks, staring up at the dreary sky. He beams, and Tsukishima stupidly wonders if it’ll clear any clouds.

“I suppose,” Tsukishima answers, suppressing all of his thoughts that say otherwise.

“It’s free food for plants.” Yamaguchi opens his umbrella with a _poof,_ and stares at Tsukishima expectantly. “You didn’t bring your own?”

Tsukishima bites the inside of his cheek. He has no idea where his umbrella is. For all he knows, it could be in the back of a moving truck by now.

“No,” he says, wondering if the hoodie of his sweater is going to stave off the rain. “I lost mine.” 

Yamaguchi tips his umbrella over Tsukishima, inadvertently bringing them closer. “That’s fine. We can just share one.” 

Tsukishima stares at him in surprise, and then tilts his head away from the spikes of the umbrella. “Are you sure?” he asks, and feels Yamaguchi’s presence incredibly close to his side.

“Yeah,” Yamaguchi says. “Unless you want to get soaked.” 

Tsukishima peeks out of the umbrella. The sky seems like it’s about to break into pieces, and he ducks back in, wincing. “I’ll just stay under here,” he replies, accidentally brushing Yamaguchi’s jacket, “if you don’t mind.” 

“Of course not.” Yamaguchi pulls at his jacket, straightening it out.

A peculiar expression comes over his face, and he directs it towards Tsukishima.

“You don’t like rainy days, do you?” he asks. His mouth rises into a playful grin.

Tsukishima fiddles with his glasses. “I don’t,” he admits, eyes sliding past Yamaguchi guiltily. 

Yamaguchi shrugs, carefree and light. “Not a problem,” he states, and the firmness in his voice absolves Tsukishima. “To each their own.” 

“What’d you say earlier?” Tsukishima suddenly says. His mind slips and grasps at Yamaguchi’s dialogue. When he finally remembers, he says, “Free food for plants?”

Yamaguchi smiles. “Yeah. Rain is free food for plants, isn’t it?” 

Warmth grows in Tsukishima’s chest, growing and seeping into his limbs, much like the stems of money plants. 

“It is,” Tsukishima agrees. His hand twitches in the empty air. He’s not sure why. 

“I just think that’s nice.” Yamaguchi shifts the umbrella so it sits higher above them. He looks up for some reason, and Tsukishima can see the freckled column of his throat.

“Like a buffet,” Tsukishima adds on, “but for plants.” 

Yamaguchi’s head snaps back down. His cheeks dimple when he smiles.

“Yeah. A plant buffet.”

* * *

“Oh, look!” Yamaguchi says, pointing at a row of flowers dappled with water. “They have camellias. Isn’t that cool?”

Tsukishima matches Yamaguchi’s gaze. A bush of pink, unfurling flowers stare back at him.

“They’re nice,” he says, and wonders if his vocabulary only consists of one adjective. “Pretty.”

Two adjectives. He can’t recall the last time he described anything as pretty.

Yamaguchi nudges him with his elbow, pointing at the flower bush near the camellias. “There’s bergenias, too,” he says. Purple, horn shaped things stare back at Tsukishima.

He looks back at Yamaguchi, who has a childlike fascination at the flower bush in front of them.

 _Never mind,_ Tsukishima thinks, forcing his eyes back onto the bergenias. He’s used the word “pretty” to describe things before. 

“They collect water remarkably well,” he notes, watching the way water gathers in the bulbs of flowers, only to leak down the stems when it overflows.

“I know,” Yamaguchi says, and funnily enough, he almost sounds envious. “They’re called elephant’s ears.” He turns his head to give Tsukishima a questioning look. “Can an elephant’s ears collect water like that?”

“No,” Tsukishima responds automatically. This is territory he has ample knowledge on. “They’re used like fans, since elephants can’t sweat.”

“Wait.” Yamaguchi’s eyes widen. “Elephants can’t sweat?”

The attention causes pride to streak through Tsukishima. “Yeah,” he answers, “because they don’t have sweat glands.” 

“They don’t have sweat glands?” Yamaguchi repeats. He stopped facing the flower bushes a long time ago. “That’s so cool!”

Tsukishima pushes his glasses up his nose. His hands are disgustingly cold and damp, but Yamaguchi’s earnestness makes him forget about it. 

“Isn’t it?” he replies, barely controlling his voice from rising. His cheeks start to warm up. They contrast the cool wind that keeps on washing over them.

Yamaguchi beams. “Tell me more, Tsukki,” he says, tilting his head, and Tsukishima’s mind goes out the window. 

The head tilt. _Tsukki?_ Yamaguchi just did both of those things at once.

“Oka-” Tsukishima stutters out, ready to reveal his large lexicon of mammalian facts, but Yamaguchi interrupts him. 

“Uh.” Yamaguchi uses the hand holding the umbrella to block his face. He averts his gaze to another flower bush, which seems to be dotted with yellow spheres. “Sorry, that came out by accident.”

Tsukishima looks at Yamaguchi, who’s currently hiding his face with the umbrella handle.

 _Tsukki._ Annoyingly cute, maybe even naive. In Yamaguchi’s voice, however, he finds that he doesn’t mind it at all. 

“It’s fine.” Tsukishima shifts on his feet slightly. “You can call me that, if you want. I don’t mind it.”

Yamaguchi slowly turns his head. “You don’t?” he asks incredulously. 

“No,” Tsukishima repeats. He finds himself speaking firmly, as if getting through to Yamaguchi is incredibly important. “I don’t.” 

Something in Yamaguchi’s expression shifts. Tsukishima can’t read what it is, but it seems happier. 

“Okay.” Yamaguchi stuffs his other hand into his pocket. “Tell me more about elephants, Tsukki.”

Tsukishima feels himself smile. It’s small, but from the way Yamaguchi’s face lightens up, it seems to be large enough. 

“Alright,” he says smoothly, words slipping past his lips. Talking has never felt easier.

* * *

“Should I get crocuses or tulips?” Yamaguchi asks. His hands are behind his back, and he stares up at a giant wall of seeds.

Tsukishima can’t tell the difference between them. They both have the same rotund shape, and their petals open upwards. 

“Crocuses,” he answers, because he’s heard of tulips before.

Yamaguchi hums. “But tulips are a classic.”

“Then get tulips.”

“Alright,” Yamaguchi says, picking up the packet.

He pauses. “Wait,” he continues, picking out the crocus seeds. “Why don’t I just get both of them?”

Tsukishima watches both of the packets dangle in Yamaguchi’s fingertips.

“Sounds good.” Tsukishima shifts from foot to foot. The weather outside is getting progressively worse. If he strains his ears enough, he can hear rain pounding on the pavement.

Yamaguchi stuffs the seeds in his pocket. “Do you want to buy anything?” he asks, nudging his elbow in the direction of the seeds. 

The seed wall is oddly daunting. Tsukishima glances at it, trying to figure out what he would choose, but comes up with nothing. 

It all looks the same to him. If Akiteru were here, he would have an armful of seeds by now. 

_How annoying,_ Tsukishima thinks, eyes narrowing at the splash of green grass varieties. A whole world that he doesn’t know anything about, and which he’s made no attempt of figuring out. 

“Not now,” he decides to say. His little tomato plant will suffice for now.

“Alright. You’ve already got your hands full, haven’t you?”

“With the tomato plant,” Tsukishima says, his eyes meeting Yamaguchi’s. “Yeah.”

Yamaguchi looks back, gaze unwavering. “Fair enough.” 

* * *

“It’s raining hard, isn’t it?” Yamaguchi says. His body is huddled around the umbrella’s handle, and Tsukishima is jammed far too close to his side.

Raindrops attack the pavement with a certain ferocity. If Tsukishima tilts his head enough, it looks like the pavement is spitting out water.

“What are you doing?” Yamaguchi says, matching the way Tsukishima is tilting his head. “Is there a frog somewhere?”

Tsukishima snaps his head back into the correct position. “Just looking at something,” he responds, admonishing himself for being caught in the act. 

Yamaguchi frowns at the pavement, tilting his head downwards. “But there’s nothing on the ground.”

Swallowing his pride, Tsukishima looks down again. 

_It’s only Yamaguchi,_ he thinks, watching water droplets careen off of the ground. _What’s the worst that can happen?_

“If you look at the ground close enough,” he forces out, “it looks like it’s raining backwards.”

“Raining backwards?” Yamaguchi asks, and tilts his head to the far right. “Oh. I see it.”

He turns to glance at Tsukishima. “I’ve never thought of it that way.” 

Tsukishima scratches his neck awkwardly. His elbow pokes out of the umbrella and gets mildly soaked. “Well,” he says, his voice somehow still smooth.

He can’t think of a way to finish his sentence. Instead of looking at Yamaguchi’s patient gaze, he looks stalwartly ahead of him.

Awkward. A social faux pas, and done in front of Yamaguchi, of all people. He ignores the growing storm in his gut. 

“You’ve been holding the umbrella this whole time, haven’t you?” he blurts out. His head turns back to Yamaguchi, whose lithe fingers are curled around the umbrella’s handle.

“I mean,” Yamaguchi responds, “it’s not a problem.”

“Let me hold it. You should rest your arm.” 

God, what the hell is Tsukishima doing? He tries to reel himself in, but only proceeds to catapult forward. 

Yamaguchi laughs. “My arm doesn’t need resting. Don’t worry, Tsukki.”

“I,” Tsukishima presses, and wishes his mouth was sewn shut so he couldn’t talk, “I insist.”

Yamaguchi looks at him in surprise, but his fingers shift on the umbrella. “Okay.”

He hands it over to Tsukishima.

“Thanks,” he says, watching how Tsukishima hoists it up slightly higher. He shakes his wrist out. “I was lying a little. My hand is kind of cramped.” 

Tsukishima nods stiffly. “No problem.”

Rain sloshes onto his side of the umbrella. He angles it away from him, tipping the water off, but it decides to land on his shoes instead.

Annoying. He glances at Yamaguchi’s shoes, which are covered by the umbrella. As long as Yamaguchi doesn’t get soaked, he’ll endure the uncomfortable wetness.

“Uh,” Yamaguchi stutters out, his shoulders slightly hunched. He’s looking at something off to the side. Tsukishima squints his eyes, and isn’t able to spot anything there.

“I should hold the umbrella, too,” he says, eyes darting to Tsukishima’s. His mouth quivers slightly. As if suddenly strengthened, he straightens his back and lifts his chin slightly.

“Why?” Tsukishima asks. Yamaguchi’s expression falters, and he wants to kick himself. 

Yamaguchi looks fixedly at the umbrella handle. “So your wrist doesn’t get sprained, too.” 

Something in Tsukishima’s subconscious is yelling at him, but he can barely hear it. “But your wrist is already sprained,” he says, and the roaring in his ears increases in volume.

Yamaguchi bites his lip. “I’ll just use my other hand.” 

Tsukishima glances at Yamaguchi. His head is pounding now.

“How are both of us going to hold an umbrella?” he asks, and from the way Yamaguchi’s expression finally drops, he wishes the sky would fall on his head. 

“No,” Yamaguchi says, collecting himself rather quickly. A determined gleam comes into his eyes, and he hovers his hand near the umbrella’s handle. “Like this.” 

He curls his fingers over Tsukishima’s own. His hand is warm. His fingers aren’t too bony or broad, but perfect, and they slot into the gaps that Tsukishima’s fingers leave behind.

His pointer finger curls over the plastic umbrella handle.

“...Is this fine?” he asks, after a while of keeping his hand over Tsukishima’s. Hesitancy leaks into his voice. His arm twitches slightly.

Tsukishima shifts his hand under Yamaguchi’s. Yamaguchi holds his fingers like money plant stems, as if they’re something he wants to untangle, as if they’re something he looks after.

His thumb brushes over Tsukishima’s thumb. Tsukishima thinks his heart jumps. 

“More than fine,” Tsukishima manages to say, watching both of their palms cup the umbrella’s handle.

Yamaguchi’s arm stops twitching. He holds Tsukishima’s hand more firmly. “What does that mean?” he teases, and his thumb rests comfortably on top of Tsukishima’s.

Tsukishima feels the spark in his chest turn into a flame. 

“Very fine,” he replies, mouth curling into a grin. He doesn’t feel stupid for his joke. 

Yamaguchi laughs. His shoulder bumps into Tsukishima’s side.

The rain around them continues, showing no signs of stopping.

**Author's Note:**

> thanks for reading this far! this was a cute lil prompt to write. tsukishima was kind of a dumbass in the last scene(an emotional himbo?), but man, writing him as awkward is so fun. i'd like to think that when he's around people he's attracted to(yamaguchi), he loses all of his suave charm. what a dork. 
> 
> also, there's no manga spoilers in this fic at all. however, for those who have read the manga, the ugly frog pots were a deliberated choice ;)
> 
> [here's my twitter](https://twitter.com/burningutica)(which i use often(probably too often)) and [here's my tumblr](https://phyllomena.tumblr.com/) if you want to hmu :) have a great day/night, lovelies.


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